


doppio

by graiai



Category: Original Work
Genre: Blood Kink, Coffee Shops, Discworld References, F/F, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:21:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22663924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/graiai/pseuds/graiai
Summary: Sometimes, adrenaline wakes you up better than caffeine.
Relationships: Disgraced Vampire Queen Moonlighting As A Barista/Exhausted Vampire Hunter In Search Of Caffeine
Comments: 22
Kudos: 56
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	doppio

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Elsin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elsin/gifts).



Erzsébet scowled at the bitter smell of espresso pulled two seconds too long. In her marred reflection in the brushed steel of the espresso machine, her eyelids fluttered as she rolled her eyes up to the heavens to offer her estranged Father a glare. She bit back the low groan threatening to rise in her throat. 

The stench was bad enough when it was made properly, but the horrid, finnicky drink was as good as ruined with the most absent thought in distraction—in this case, catching a glimpse in the espresso machine of the customer who had just stumbled through the door, wincing at the merry jingle of the bells tied with ribbon to the coffee shop’s door. Erzsébet couldn’t imagine enjoying the taste, even _craving_ it as so many of the regulars seemed to: taking their first, long sips with a satisfied moan not dissimilar to Erzsébet’s own ecstasy feeling a pretty girl’s pulse under her tongue. 

“Liz!” Abigail on the register said, too cheerful for the early hour (but then, she always was). “How’s that latte coming?” 

Quite recently—perhaps fifteen, sixteen years ago—Erzsébet had picked up a trite fantasy novel in which a vampire had exchanged bloodthirst for a caffeine addiction. Would that it were so simple. She picked up the shot glass of ruined espresso, and threw it back. The burn dripped down her throat, too hot, too bitter, too dead. “It’s coming. Apologies, Dr Ward.” 

The man did not so much as look up from his smartphone. Erzsébet pulled another shot, and pretended not to pay attention to the conversation at the register. 

Their new customer reeked of blood. Two, three hours old. Not her own, or rather, not only her own. _She_ had a clotted wound on her scalp, dark hair obscuring the injury. Were she blonde, there would be streaks. She was mumbling her order to Abigail, voice heavy with confusion: tiredness, it sounded like, slow but too present for a concussion. Erzsébet was not a medical professional, but she trusted her judgement when it came to exsanguination and head injuries: she’d caused more than enough of both in the wild, foolhardy years of her youth. 

“Just coffee?” asked Abigail. “Drip, or espresso?” 

“Mm. I think… espresso,” the customer said, eventually. Her hands were pressed deep into the pockets of her black duster. Could the woman look _any_ more obvious, truly? 

“Probably a good idea,” her coworker responded kindly. “Looks like it’s been a rough night.” 

“A bit,” said the customer, and then her answer to “Cash or card?” was lost to Dr Ward’s distracted, rote _thankyouhaveanicedaydear_ , not that it really mattered. Erzsébet pulled a double shot of their nicer espresso, careful of her timing, and rested her elbows upon the counter as she slid the glass across it. 

“I didn’t catch your name,” she murmured. Her fingers brushed the customer’s own as the woman reached for the glass. She was warm and alive, pulse strong in her muddy fingertips. 

The woman glanced up through her blood-encrusted lashes. Then, as if she’d not spoken at all: “That’s an awful lot of espresso.” 

“It’s BOGO,” Erzsébet said, mapping the woman’s features with an attention to detail worthy of any cartographer. She’d like to tangle her fingers in the woman’s bloodied hair, bring her in close to breathe in the sharp, copper scent. She was hard and beautiful in a late-middle age Erzsébet herself had taken centuries to feel the lack of. “Happy holidays.” 

“Mm,” the woman grunted, clearly her favorite ‘word’. “You seem familiar.” 

Erzsébet hoped she would. Smiling brightly as the woman downed the double shot, she was careful to let the rise of her lip obscure the tips of her fangs. “I’m told I have one of those faces. Will we be seeing you again around here, Jeanne?” 

Those dark eyes bored into her, but could find no fault. Abigail’s dedication to protocol was as relentless as her cheerfulness, no matter that the sun hadn’t so much as peeked over the winter horizon outside: she _must_ have gotten the customer’s name. 

It had been a long time. Last they’d met, the hunter had been little more than a girl, vicious and brutal in grief over some loss or another. Now she wore grey hairs and crow’s feet with grace, mellowed with time but just as hard, like a well-cast hammer. 

Last they’d met, Erszébet was glad to have the novice hunter out of her hair. Now she was _bored_ , failed rent control sanctions and citywide security cameras a more effective hunter than young Jeanne could ever have hoped to be, and Erszébet could use a little excitement in her humdrum, minimum wage existance. A kiss pressed to her lips or a stake pressed to her breastbone, either would be interesting—though privately she was placing her hopes on the former. Slaying attempts were all well and good, but terribly predictable in a way love affairs were not. 

“I should think so,” the hunter said, voice low and colored dark with interest. “Lynn, was it?” 

“Liz,” Erszébet corrected, and felt _alive_ for the first time in centuries when the vampire hunter echoed her with the barest hint of a smile.


End file.
